Dirty Blonde

of sadness and regret.

The anchorman said, “In our top story, police are still searching for Richard Marz, a former assistant district attorney being sought in connection with the shooting murder of Hollywood television producer Arthur…”

Cate watched the TV screen as they flashed photos of Marz, barely able to listen. She shouldn’t have said anything from the bench. She’d given Marz the validation he needed to kill. The TV screen changed to file footage of the male lead from Attorneys@Law, with a voice-over about a great loss and a tragic crime and how the show would go on. Then the picture changed again.

Cate froze when she recognized the photo on the screen.

CHAPTER 11

It’s Elvis, from last night.

The anchorman was saying, “And in southwest Philadelphia, a tragic accident claims a man’s life. James Partridge was killed when he fell from a balcony at a motel here.”

“D’oh, I hate when that happens,” Sam joked, and behind him, Cate stood riveted.

The anchorman said, “Police say that Partridge, a frequent guest of the motel, may have lost his footing in the rain and was inebriated at the time of the fall. And in other news, an overturned tractor-trailer…”

Emily leaned over and switched off the TV. “Once again, the proverbial tractor-trailer.”

Sam laughed. “It gets ’em every time. Dang things can’t stay upright.”

But Cate was already backing out of the room. “I have work to do, guys,” she said, shaken, and retreated to her office.

She closed the door, hustled to her desk, and called Gina’s cell phone. She told her about the man’s death, hunched over the phone, confused and stricken. Her head began to pound, and she rubbed her forehead. When she finished, she felt vaguely nauseated. “Maybe I should go to the cops,” she said.

“Are you nuts? Why?”

“He probably fell down the stairs, trying to come after me.”

“Did you see that?”

“No, he was on the balcony when I left.” Cate squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t remember for sure. “At least I thought he was-”

“So what, anyway? So what?”

“The man is dead, Geen. I was the last person to see him alive.”

“It wasn’t a murder, it was an accident. He fell down trying to rape you. You don’t owe him anything!” Gina could barely contain herself. “You wanna go to the cops? Tell them you pick up strange guys, in bars?”

Cate flushed, mortified. What was she thinking? For a judge, she had no judgment at all.

“You’d be risking your reputation, for nothing.”

Cate put her face in her hands, rattled to her foundation. What would she go to the police with? Even she knew she wasn’t making sense. She was screwing up so much lately, and now people were dying.

“Cate, you’re just panicking. Between the stuff with Simone and this, you’re just a mess.”

“Thanks.”

“Take a deep breath.”

“I left him alive.”

“Of course you did, and then he fell off the balcony because he was a falling-down-drunk, no-good-pig rapist.”

“God, this is so awful. He’s dead.”

“Yes, and you’re not,” Gina said, with finality. “Look, I gotta go, the pediatrician just came in. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks.” Cate hung up, so preoccupied she barely heard a knock at the door. “Yes?”

Val stuck her head inside, frowning with concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Marz will have to get through me to get to you.”

“Aw, don’t even think that.” Cate willed herself to get it together. Nobody knew about the man last night and nobody ever would. She waved Val inside. “Sherman and the cops think Marz might-”

“I got the court-mail. I’ll keep an eye on the clerks, too.”

“Thanks, and you be careful. Marz may know what you look like.”

“I can take that little white boy.” Val lifted an attitudinal eyebrow.

“Not if he has a gun you can’t.”

“Pssht.” Val waved her off. “By the way, those flowers came for you while you were with Sherman.” She gestured at the conference table, where a huge bouquet of long-stemmed roses sprayed from a clear glass vase.

“Jeez.” Graham. Cate felt her chest tighten.

Val chuckled. “How’d you miss those? There’s two dozen there, I counted.”

Cate got up, crossed to the flowers, and slid the white envelope from its clear plastic trident and opened it. Judge, I have a major crush on you, but I promise to take it slower. Like-not love, Graham.

“And Graham Liss called again this morning,” Val said. “It’s none of my business, but between the phone calls and the two dozen roses, you might give the man a little attention. It’s about time you had a date. Now, did you remember you have oral argument at two o’clock?”

“Of course not,” Cate answered, turning with card in hand. “In what case?”

“Tourneau v. General Insurance. I ordered you a tuna fish salad for lunch.”

“Thanks, great idea.” Cate had meant to study the briefs and the bench memo last night. Now she’d have to go on the bench cold. “Where’s Emily? It’s her case, isn’t it?”

Val whispered, “She says you saw Simone’s picture on TV and got very upset.”

Great. “Don’t be silly. Open the door, please, Val. And cover your ears.” Val complied, and Cate called out, “Emily! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

And at the appointed hour, Cate was berobed and back in court, presiding atop the dais. From her first moment in the courtroom, she flashed on a freeze-frame of the very last time she’d sat here. Marz was launching himself at Simone. She saw it over and over until she walled off the thought and concentrated on the proceeding at hand, which involved a question of conflicts of laws. Before today, she’d thought of conflicts as an abstract area of the law, but now she knew that no area of the law was truly abstract. She’d seen the intersection of the law and human beings, and it ended in a head-on collision.

Cate collected herself and mustered a smile for plaintiff’s counsel. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gill.”

“Good afternoon, Your Honor.” Herman Gill was a standard-issue big-firm lawyer; tall, middle-aged white guy in a dark suit, horn-rimmed glasses, and brown wingtips, as if he’d been mugged by Brooks Brothers.

“What do we have today, specifically?” Cate asked, glancing at the papers.

“Your Honor, I will review the facts briefly. Plaintiff Jean-Patrice Tourneau is a decedent, a Pennsylvania resident and former CEO of VistaView Communications, Inc., a Pennsylvania corporation with its headquarters in Blue Bell.”

Cate listened, coming back down to earth. The defense lawyer, another big-firm squash player, crossed his pinstriped legs. She made notes, though she knew Emily had included it in her bench memo. The law clerk sat off to the side, taking her usual copious notes. She seemed better than she had been this morning, too. Sitting at his desk near her, the courtroom deputy was catching up on the crossword puzzle. The courtroom was back to normal. The pews sat empty, ten vacant rows of honey-hued wood, and Cate could see clear to the back wall, with its oil portraits of past district judges, all of them men with bald heads, horn-rimmed glasses, and somber smiles. The way you look, the way you act, even the way you dress. Cate wondered if she would ever feel like this were her courtroom.

Suddenly the door opened in the back, and the movement drew Cate’s attention. A man in a dark suit entered